


Sensory Overload

by Cardinal_Daughter



Category: Dragon Ball, Dragon Ball Z
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut, Romance, touch deprived
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-09
Updated: 2016-11-09
Packaged: 2018-08-30 01:04:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8512819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cardinal_Daughter/pseuds/Cardinal_Daughter
Summary: How long had it been since anyone had touched him without the intent to harm?





	

**Author's Note:**

> After last night, I needed to do something positive. So have some Vegeta x Bulma fluff/smut.

He was on the cusp of consciousness, wavering in the in-between where reality and the haunting nightmares that followed him blended into a seamless mixture of vibrant swirls, leaving him uncertain as to what was real and what was not.

But through the muddled dreams of days past and pain that spoke of a future of waiting for bones and muscles and tendons to heal, Vegeta felt something against his skin, hot and cold all at once, and it was with a revelation that whatever this was, it was _nice_ , that he opened his eyes.

Pain gripped him, but through the familiar sensations of bones snapped in half and muscles torn and cuts lining his skin, he still felt the hot and cold sliding against his chest, and when his vision finally cleared, his eyes focused on the blue-haired woman sitting next to him, the sensation her hand rubbing up and down the length of a particularly nasty gash.

"Wh-"

Her blue eyes snapped up to meet his, wide with surprise and bright with relief.

"Oh, thank Kami!" She breathed as she leaned forward, using the hand she'd been touching him with to balance herself as she lifted the other hand to brush against his cheek, fingers sliding up to brush against the roots of his hair. "Welcome back to the land of the living."

She sat back as awareness flooded Vegeta. He looked around, unsurprised to find himself in the medical bay of Capsule Corp., attached to a few constantly beeping machines that were already grating on his ears.

The sensation reached his chest again, and he was brought back to himself, staring as Bulma squeezed a small tube and began to rub his chest some more. "Almost done," she promised, offering him a half smile.

"What is that?" He felt heavy, and his voice was raw and he couldn't focus on anything but the feel of her hand on him. It burned as it froze and it was as heavy as it was light.

"It's a balm that should speed up the healing process," Bulma explained as she moved to take Vegeta's hand and rub some on the cut that ran across his palm. He barely felt the sting, so concentrated on the sensation of his hand being held, touched, _caressed_.

"We don't have any senzu beans so unfortunately you're going to have to deal with this stuff," she said as she finished with the medicine but continued to hold his hand. Vegeta found his eyes glued to the sight.

"You're lucky, you know," Bulma whispered, her own eyes following his gaze to where their hands met. "When I found you, I honestly didn't think you were alive. You were so still..." She trailed off, thumb absently rubbing over his knuckles, the sensation shooting a strange spark of energy through him that ignited every part of him and dulled the throb of pain that seemed intent on taking his attention.

It paled in comparison.

"Well," she said, laying his hand on the bed beside him and standing. "I'll let you rest. Please stay here. I know you're a strong, indestructible Saiyan, but you need to heal. Please?"

His skin burned where she'd held him and all he could do was nod at her request. She smiled, reached out to touch his cheek once more with a breath of relief, then slipped out of the room, leaving Vegeta with the agonizing pain of losing her touch.

He drifted in and out of consciousness after that, sleeping and staring at his hand in turn, wondering just what the feeling was that still seemed etched in his hand. It tingled, like energy, but he couldn't summon it forth, could only focus on the light, gentle touches that Bulma had bestowed on him, and he wondered when she would be back, and if she came back, would she do it again? His hand was cold, as if longing for her warmth, and Vegeta wondered if the alarm he felt was his own reaction or supplemented by the medicine he could feel slipping into him through the IV carefully pressed into the bend of his elbow.

When he fell asleep again, his mind was filled not with visions of blood and war, but with the gentle, soothing feeling of being _touched_.

He awoke again just as Bulma entered the room, a tray of food in hand. He could smell the pleasant aroma of a hearty stew, as well as a plate of eggs and a hot cup of tea. She wordlessly placed the tray on the bed and sat down beside him.

"How you feeling?" She asked as she pulled the lid off the tray, the sight of the meal making the prince's stomach growl. She giggled. "Besides hungry?"

"Fine," he grumbled, reaching out to take the spoon in hand to eat. It hurt, but he said nothing, eating with slow, controlled movements while Bulma moved the the chair next to the bed to watch.

"I don't like being watched," he said at length, sounding more pleading than angry. Bulma shrugged.

"I'm not here to watch," she said, "I'm here to keep you company."

That was a pleasant thought, Vegeta admitted reluctantly. How long has it been since he'd actually _talked_ to someone? Slowly, he gestured to his bowl. Bulma smiled but shook her head.

"It's yours."

He grunted and gestured again. Rolling her eyes, Bulma moved to the bed once more and took the spoon from him, her hand brushing his. The same invisible sparks from before shot up his arm.

Bulma, unaware, took a large bite of his food. "There, happy?"

He grunted, finished his meal, then silently gripped his hand in the other, trying to squeeze away the sensation. Bulma caught the move almost instantly.

"Does it hurt?" She asked, and her hand moved to rest against his thigh seemingly without thought as she leaned forward. He felt his body stiffen from the unexpected sensation, but forced himself to nod, despite himself.

"I can put some more balm on it, if you want," she offered, and Vegeta forced himself to wait a good long two seconds before nodding. She stood and retrieved the tube, then moved the tray away and say back down, taking his hanging hand in hers and began to administer the balm. It stung, even as the gel was cold, but once more Vegeta found that he was practically numb to every sensation save the rhythmic feeling of her fingers moving along his. When she finished, she looked up. "Anywhere else?"

She was offering to further touch him, to administer the balm with her hands upon his scarred skin, and while Vegeta knew better than to be so willing, he nodded and gestured the the bandage over his chest. Bulma nodded, gently unwrapped the dressing, hands carelessly caressing him as she worked, and carefully reapplied the gel there as well. Now that he was awake for it, Vegeta could fully appreciate the sensation he'd awoken to, and to see her so silent, so focused, so gentle with him left him confused and flustered and there was an ache somewhere deep inside him that he could only _just_ register and didn't recognize.

How long had it been since anyone had touched him without intent to harm?

He sighed as her long, thin digits ran over his chest, the gash not bothering him, but he'd needed an excuse to feel her once more. It was strange, soothing, foreign but suddenly craved, and when she finished a few moments later, Vegeta felt a pang in his chest that wasn't from the broken ribs.

"There you go," she said with a nod, wiping her hand on a towel that was draped over the table. "Can I get your majesty anything else?" She said it with sarcasm, but she was smiling, eyes kind and looking at him with mischief and daring him to say something smart so she could tell at him.

"You can get to work on repairing the machine," he said, though as the words left his mouth he wished he could take them back. That meant she would leave and if she were not here she would not have the opportunity to touch him again.

But, why did he care?

She smirked and crossed her arms. "We had to order a couple parts that won't arrive until Thursday. So I can't. All the code was saved so that's not going to be the problem. It's rebuilding the physical machine, and making sure you don't blow it to hell, again." She poked him then, lightly, playfully, a simple press of her finger to the edge of his nose but it was a touch and when had he needed something so desperately in his life?

"Then let me rest," he said at length, tired and confused and concerned.

"I can do that," Bulma said softly. She turned and grabbed something out of her bag, then held it out to Vegeta. "It's a walkie talkie. You press this button and speak, and I'll be able to hear you anywhere in the compound. If you need something you just let me know." She held it out, but Vegeta merely looked at it as if it were about to bite him. Rolling her eyes, Bulma took Vegeta's hand in hers, wrapped it around the radio, and pressed her finger against his so that the button was pressed.

"Say something," she said, her own voice echoing from the radio in her bag. Vegeta pulled their hands closer to his mouth and, staring defiantly at her, he murmured, "Something."

His voice echoed too, and Bulma rolled her eyes. She let go of him, then stepped away. "Liked you better when you were unconscious," she grumbled, despite the smile on her lips, "Couldn't sass me then."

"You'd miss it if I didn't," he said with ease.

Bulma paused for a long moment, hands hovering over the tray. "Yeah," she admitted at length, "I would."

_*******  
"No."_

_"Tsk, tsk, Vegeta. I thought you were supposed to be smarter than this."_

_A sharp pain shot through him, starting at his lower back, and he grunted. A breath passed, then another sharp piercing pain, then another._

_"When I gave you those orders, I expected you to obey them."_

_Another lashing, harder, somehow sharper, sliced him, and he bit the inside of his lip to keep from making a sound._

_"Now, now, Vegeta, you shouldn't keep things bottled up so much." The nasally, snarly voice circled him continuously, and Vegeta felt so disoriented he couldn't quite pinpoint where exactly it's source was standing. "It's not healthy."_

_Another stinging, agonizing strike, and Vegeta struggled against his restraints, growling in an almost feral manner._

_"That's better. But let's see if we can really get you to open up. Let those emotions go. Scream a little. It's good for the soul." A pause. A laugh. "Well, it's good for my soul."_

_Another strike. Then another. His back was soaked from the blood that dripped from each wound and splashed when he was struck. He stood in a pool of his blood, boots stained red even as he tried to contain his rage._

_"Come, monkey. Scream for me."_

_Another lashing, and Vegeta screamed. He screamed loud and haggard and long, pulling against his restraints until he was at last free and when he felt the resistance of the metal snap under the pressure he turned, fist swinging to land on his target-_

"Ahh!"

His eyes snapped open, and he forced himself to freeze, taking a split second to take stock of everything around him. He was sitting up in bed, bandages ripped and blood pouring from the wound in his palm. His other fist was raised, ready to strike and before him, ducked as if to protect herself was-

"Bulma?"

Slowly she raised her head, eyes half-wide with fear. Slowly, Vegeta lowered his fist to his lap, then took a slow, deep breath.

It had just been a dream. Those days were over.

Bulma righted herself, and stared at him for a long moment, eyes narrowing in a way that at first Vegeta thought was in preparation to shout at him. But she stayed silent a moment longer and he realized she was studying him.

"You did quite a number on yourself," she said softly, gesturing to the mess of his bandages. He grunted, embarrassed, and looked away.

Bulma shifted closer. "It's probably not much consolation, but I have nightmares too."

Vegeta scoffed. Bulma glared. "Namek wasn't exactly fun and games, you know."

That got his attention. "You've nightmares of Namek?"

She nodded and proceeded to move around, gathering fresh bandages and the tube of salve before joining him back on the bed.

"I've seen my fair share of shit," she said simply, motioning for Vegeta to lie back so she could peel off the old bandage on his chest and replace it. She carefully applied more salve, her hands careful and light as Vegeta glanced downward as best he could to watch. "I'm sure it's nothing compared to what you've seen. But still. You're not alone. Which may or may not matter to you."

"Tell me," he said hoarsely. Bulma paused her ministrations to look up at him.

"What?"

"Tell me about them," he said, "What have you seen?"

She passed the time cleaning his wounds telling him about some of her more troubling nightmares. He listened as best he could, but the feeling of her hands on him was more than distracting. At length she confessed she also had nightmares about the androids, faceless beings that chased her down with ease and toyed with her until she was so afraid and in so much pain that she had no choice but to force herself awake.

"I will vanquish those androids," Vegeta boasted. "You need not worry yourself over them."

Bulma smiled as she taped off the bandage on his hand. "I know you will."

They were silent for a moment, then Bulma looked up. "What about your dream?"

Looking away, Vegeta grunted. "It was nothing."

"So, nothing almost made you beat the hell out of me? Okay." Her tone said clearly that she did not believe him in the slightest. Eventually, Vegeta sighed.

"It was a memory, of sorts," he said slowly, "Of time spent working for Frieza."

That was clearly enough for Bulma, whose mouth puckered into an "oh", and she nodded slightly, once.

"I never saw him, but the stories were more than enough."

"You're lucky you'll never meet him."

She patted his hand, then released it. His eyes snapped to where they rested on her lap. "Want me to leave you alone? Or do you want company?"

"Don't you have that irritating male to entertain?" He grumbled harshly. Bulma huffed.

"As a matter of fact, I don't," she said sharply, the added, softer, a breath of sadness, "Not anymore."

Vegeta didn't know what that meant but he chose not to ask as she turned and began to put everything back in its place, humming a small, sad tune to drown out the silence.

She checked the monitors, patted his shoulder- another spark of energy shot through him at the unexpected contact- then she left, leaving Vegeta with enough to ponder over that his dreams let him be the rest of the night.

*******

Routine followed for the next several days. Bulma would visit numerous times throughout the day, checking on him, bringing food and updates on the new gravity room. She would wordlessly apply salve to his wounds whether he needed it or not, and Vegeta used the time in between her visits to reflect on what exactly was happening to him.

He _liked_ her company. He _liked_ the feeling of her hands on him, light and delicate, careful of his wounds. He'd been treated before, but the surgeons and doctors under Frieza's command were hardly gentle or caring. They didn't purposely hurt, but they were not tender. Bulma was. She took her time, was careful, soft.

Had Vegeta ever appreciated anything for its softness before?

She was, and he liked her that way. Liked the feeling of her fingers brushing against his scarred, deprived skin. He'd liked it so much that he'd asked for more salve- admitting to a pain he hadn't even had that first day simply because he'd wanted to properly experience the sensation. It had been too good to be true. But it was true.

And it was still good.

But what happened when the bandages finally came off and he resumed his training? Things would undoubtedly go back to the way they were: he training at all hours and her going about her life as normal. There would be no quiet conversations, no touching, no soft, hesitant smiles.

Why did he even want those things? He was a Saiyan- a Saiyan Prince- and he'd never needed or wanted such things before. It was unnecessary, uncouth, unwanted. And yet here he was, the hope of his people, the avenger of his race, craving the touch of a woman.

And not just any woman. A _human_ woman.

He needed to clear his head, and he needed to clear it now.

Pulling back the sheet, he found a set of clothing, carefully dressed himself, and stormed outside. The gravity room was near completion. He couldn't boot up the system, but he could sure as hell train.

He managed to train in peace for twenty minutes before a screen came to life and Bulma's enraged face appeared on the other side.

"Are you crazy?!" She shrieked.

"No." _Maybe_.

"You are in no shape to train! If you kill yourself from this, then how are we supposed to defeat the androids?"

"I'm not going to kill myself."

"Says the man whose chest is _bleeding_."

Vegeta looked down to see that he was, in fact, bleeding. He'd not even felt the seam of his stitches rip, but that was a positive at least, and if he were honest, he felt exhilarated.

From the screen, Bulma rolled her eyes. "Don't go anywhere. I'll be right there."

"I'm fine." He snapped. Bulma stared hard and though he couldn't see it, he knew her hands were on her hips.

"You are not fine. Now shut up. I'm coming."

The screen went black and he shrugged and continued training. Ten minutes later she entered the gravity room, med bag in hand. "Get your stubborn ass down here now!"

He ignored her and continued training. He needed to clear his head, get her out of his system. It was only because he'd been on medicine and wasn't up to his full strength. That's where the thoughts had come from, surely.

He ignored her further, until thoughts of ascension were the only thing he could focus on, and he registered at length that Bulma had walked out. He smirked, glad he'd overcome whatever has been plaguing him and threw another punch when suddenly a horrible, gut-wrenching pain shot through him and he slammed straight into the ground, groaning as he felt something snap that hadn't fully healed yet. A moment later the weight lifted and he heard the door hiss open and Bulma returned. She crouched down to where he lay flat on the floor and smirked.

"Mobile access to the motherboard from my tablet. I got the gravity adjustment installed this morning. Didn't I tell you?" The look on her face told him she purposely _hadn't_ told him, and while he was annoyed by that, he couldn't help but admire her gumption. Not that he would tell her that.

"B-bitch," he managed.

Bulma had the audacity to giggle. "Yep!" Now sit up. Or can you move?"

He struggled to a sitting position and she went to work on his chest. He ignored the freshly broken rib and tried to think back to the thrill he'd felt hovering in the air, training, working back toward his goal.

It didn't feel quite as good as Bulma's hands brushing against his skin.

_What is wrong with me?_

*******

The second time he rebelled and trained against Bulma's wishes, she didn't shut turn on the gravity and send him spiraling to the ground, but she did dial in to scream at him.

He screamed back, the unleashing a good feeling, and their argument about his health quickly dissolved into nothing more than juvenile name-calling until at last Vegeta was exhausted and had to stop lest he take a major step back in his recovery.

Bulma met him outside and fussed some more, using several unflattering names for him while she set his wrist with an eyeroll.

He thanked her with a nod and tried to walk away, but he was stopped by the sharp, hot feel of her grabbing his hand. It was electric, and though she didn't have the physical strength to stop him, he was rendered motionless regardless.

"Please take care of yourself," she said sincerely, pleasingly.

He pulled his hand away slowly, the heat following him.

"I am."

He disobeyed a third time, but didn't injure himself in any way. When he explained that to Bulma, she refused to believe him and insisted on inspecting him to ensure he wasn't hiding a new or re-made injury.

Her hands inspected him efficiently, gently, and Vegeta almost wished he was injured so the process would last longer.

And _there_ was a thought, wasn't there?

If he hurt himself, she would touch him more. It was as stupid as it was brilliant, and Vegeta thought perhaps he might be able to justify wanting her touch this way: if he were hurt, she'd be inclined to help. And to help, she had to touch.

What was a little pain when the pleasure that followed afterward was so rewarding?

*******

He was mostly healed at this point, but he made it a goal to hurt himself with each major training session. A slight limp at the right time, a punch turned just a little too far to the left resulted in a hairline fracture, and a little too much gravity resulted in him snapping a finger when he tried to grab and toss one of the bots.

All calculated and precise injuries, painful enough to require Bulma's assistance but nothing so major that he couldn't continue with his rigorous daily training.

Bulma however, quickly grew annoyed with her suddenly clumsy houseguest.

"What is going on?" She asked, exasperated as he rubbed salve onto his arm. He'd sliced it open on one of the bots: a jagged edge he could have easily bent into shape dug just a little too deep in his arm, and he was bleeding more than he'd thought such a cut would do.

"Its the dangers of training," Vegeta said simply, watching with extreme focus as her hands wound the bandage around him, the feeling of her soft, warm skin lightly brushing on his dulled from the fabric but still enough to satisfy his craving. "You wouldn't understand."

"I understand," she snapped, "That before the explosion you would beat yourself up black and blue and be totally fine but ever since, you've been getting these little, careless injuries. Are you sure there's not something wrong? Maybe we should run a couple tests."

He glared. "I'm fine."

He moved to tug his arm away from her, wanting contact but wanting to end their conversation more, but she rested her palms flat against him, one on his forearm and the other in his bicep, and he stilled, glancing down instantly to where her hands were, forcing himself to take a slow, controlled breath as he felt her thumb brush back and forth against his flesh. It felt wonderful.

"You're not," she insisted. "And I'm worried."

His head bowed, ever so slightly, to watch her thumb move against his arm, mesmerized by the movement. "You shouldn't be," he said, voice almost soft for all that he was focused on the sensation that was screaming for his attention. His blood seared, his heart raced, and everything was narrowing down until the only thing he could focus on was that small back and forth, only covering an inch of skin but consuming his whole world.

He heard something in the distance, vague and soft, then finally heard it again more clearly: his name.

"Vegeta, what's going on? You're scaring me."

He blinked and looked up, looking at Bulma as if he didn't recognize her for a moment. He blinked once more and realized she had stopped stroking him, and he frowned.

"You stopped."

He hadn't meant to say it, and he silently cursed himself in eight alien languages.

Bulma blinked. "I...stopped..."

She glanced down to where her hand was still against his arm and her mouth opened slightly, a breath escaping as she looked up, eyes clear with understanding.

"You're doing this so I'll touch you." She gestured to his arm.

Vegeta swallowed but glared. "That's stupid."

She was unfazed. "But it's true."

His silence said everything.

"Vegeta," she said, voice soft, confused, oddly pleased. "Why didn't you just _ask_ me?"

He didn't understand. "Ask you what?"

"To touch you."

That thought hasn't even occurred to him. Was it acceptable to ask such a thing? Could he have even brought himself to ask, had he known she would have obliged? Would his pride have allowed him?

He said nothing, just looked down at her hand still on his arm. She squeezed the strong muscle reassuringly.

"Do you want me to keep doing it?"

Slowly, almost nervously, he nodded.

He glanced up just long enough to see her smile, and she resumed the light brushing of her thumb against his arm.

And before he could control his reaction, his eyes slipped shut and he sighed.

When he realized what he'd done, he snapped his eyes open and stared at Bulma in alarm, knowing his moment of weakness could be used against him. But she was simply watching him, curious and kind, and brought her other hand up to lightly scratch the back of his neck.

It was bliss.

A groan escaped him, his body alight with fire as he practically melted in her hands, a mighty Saiyan brought asunder by something so small and simple.

"No one's ever touched you before, have they? Not like this."

His focus shot back to her, to her too-blue eyes. She was watching him with the same interest she held in her experiments and he almost resented the comparison.

He waited a moment, considered, then shook his head, careful not to lose the sensation of her fingernails against him. "No."

She made a small hum of acknowledgement, then moved, fingers sliding against him until she was behind him, and let her hands trail lightly down his back, where he shivered.

"We'll have to remedy that."

*******

It was their own little secret. Vegeta would sooner kill someone than ever live through the humiliation of having to reveal such a weakness, and Bulma knew no one would believe her even if she _wanted_ to tell someone. It was their secret, their own private thing, and though Vegeta knew it solely benefitted him, he was grateful for it nonetheless.

At every opportunity, Bulma touched him. She made sure not to surprise him, but she would alert him of her presence, and when she passed, she'd pat his shoulder or arm. When he joined her for a late night snack- he fresh from training and she up late working on a project, she would squeeze his shoulder or rub his arm.

If he woke from a nightmare and couldn't fall back to sleep, he'd make his way to her room and she'd lazily scratch his back until they both fell asleep. Sometimes when she woke from her own nightmares, she'd seek him out and wake him up long enough to let him know she was there. She'd fall asleep tracing the lines on his palm, and when they woke their fingers would be entwined.

After a particularly grueling day of training, she'd rub salve into his tried muscles, scolding him for being too careless but at least grateful he wasn't breaking bones to earn a touch anymore. He'd grumble and smart off as she fussed, but the moment her hands touched him he'd fall silent, body going lax as all the stress and pain and hurt melted away, as if by magic.

If he had to show her something with the gravity room or she needed him to join her in the lab for diagnostics on equipment or armor, their hands would join, one walking in front of the other. To the untrained eye, it appeared as if the former was dragging the latter, but it had been Bulma's ingenious idea to touch him without drawing attention. And every moment her hands were on him was a moment that the memories of his past didn't sit heavily on his shoulders, weighing him down and closing like a vice around him.

It was a relief, every time. It was pleasure, it was soft, it was necessary. He'd never known affection, gentleness, but he thrived off the feelings that Bulma inspired when her hands were on him. A part of him wondered what would have happened if he'd always known these sensations, but another part of him rationalized that he never would have come to appreciate them as he now did had he grown up with them.

Bulma had never lacked affection from others; she'd been so used to touch that she'd touched him without thinking. Now each caress, massage, pat, and clasped hand was calculated, understood, and appreciated.

One evening, they were seated in Bulma's room, Vegeta lying on his stomach while Bulma pressed hard on his right shoulder to work out the tension.

"I swear you do this to spite me," she said, trying and failing to be annoyed. Vegeta grunted, but said nothing.

Bulma smiled, then continued her ministrations, sliding her hands down, first hard, then lighter, almost tickling. He shifted under her, groaned, then settled.

"Anywhere in particular you want me to touch?"

He shrugged, as lazy as a content cat, and Bulma playfully poked him. "Don't ignore me."

"I'm not," he murmured, and it was then Bulma realized he was almost asleep. She moved then, letting go of Vegeta long enough to fall onto her side next to him, watching as he opened one eye to stare at her.

"You stopped."

"You were asleep; you wouldn't be able to properly appreciate it."

He grunted in acknowledgement, then sat up. Bulma tried to follow but his hand gently pushed her back down.

"What are you doing?" She asked, more annoyed than anything.

"I want to do something."

"Besides being annoying?"

He blew air out his nose, then lifted his hand and let it rest against the back of her neck.

"What-" his hand moved then, in the way he'd long sense memorized Bulma's doing, against her. Her question melted into a sigh.

"I am going to touch you."

"Then have at it, my friend."

His astonishment was two-fold: he'd never been someone's friend before, and how could touching someone else feel _this_ good?

It was one thing to be touched. But to touch? He knew intimately the feel of Bulma's hands. He would know them in an instant. But to touch her, to give her the same comfort and pleasure she had given him for over three months now was....

He liked it. Touching. Being touched.

He never wanted this to stop.

His hands continued, lightly, carefully, exploring the expanse of her back with a gentleness he was certain he'd never tried before. He could crush her if he wasn't careful, and for the first time in his life, Vegeta wanted to give someone pleasure, not pain.

She was quiet, breathing slow and steady as his fingers ran over the mix of skin and cotton of her tank top. He wondered if this felt as good for her as it did for him.

Softly, uncertainly, he asked.

She nodded. "It feels great," she told him, "When the androids are defeated, you've got yourself a full-time gig as my personal masseuse."

"I thought that was going to be _your_ job."

She rolled over, flat on her back to look up at him. "Hey, I have a job," she said playfully. Then went silent, staring at him thoughtfully for a long moment. Vegeta felt uncomfortable under her gaze and looked away, wondering what was happening.

Slowly, Bulma sat up. "Can I do something?" She asked softly. He glanced at her.

"What?"

"It's a touch," she explained, "But... different."

"Different how?"

"I use my lips," she explained, her voice soft, as if sharing a secret, "Instead of my hands. It's called a kiss."

He repeated the word. It sounded strange but pleasant on his tongue. After a moment, he nodded.

A breath escaped her, and she moved closer, using one hand to touch one cheek while she lightly feathered her lips against the other. Vegeta tensed a moment, then relaxed, his breathing slow. She waited a moment then repeated the gesture against his jaw. Again the touch was feather light. Vegeta's eyes snapped shut, trying to focus on the feeling, wanting the heat of her lips to embed into his skin, to mark him so that he would always feel her against him.

His cheeks were hot, flushed from his own nervousness and warm from where she touched him. A kiss was a strange thing, but it tingled just like her hands made his arms, back, cheek tingle, and it was always such a pleasant feeling he figured it hardly mattered _how_ she touched him, only that she did.

"Do you like that?" She asked, voice a whisper. He nodded. Then, he felt her lips on his cheek again, and could tell she was smiling.

"Good."

She kissed him again, and this time her lips lingered.

"It's...sometimes platonic," she explained, "Lots of people kiss for different reasons. But certain kisses are... romantic. Between two people who are attracted to each other."

"Attracted." He repeated the word, understanding what she meant but unable to properly focus on the implications of such a thing. He was too dizzy, too absorbed in the feel of her lips brushing against him as she spoke. He could surrender to this and never leave this moment.

She was warm. Hot. Burning. He wanted to grab hold of her and just-

He didn't know. Hold her, touch her, press her into him until they were never apart and her presence could always be felt against him.

"As in... sexually."

He turned to look at her, her lips dangerously close to his own, and the thought occurred to him that if her lips on his cheek was damned delightful, then perhaps touching her lips with his would be even more so.

He could smell her arousal- knew instinctively what it was- a light, musky scent that made his head swim. Kissing was intimate. More than brushes of fingertips and massages and light scratches on the back of the neck. Kissing meant _more_ and Vegeta hadn't even gotten used to being caressed but was now being offered even more and he knew he'd be a fool to turn it down.

He wanted more. He wanted intimate. He craved something that was beyond his understanding, but Bulma was so certain, so kind, so willing, and he knew that he could trust her.

He wanted to trust her. He wanted her to show him everything he didn't know he'd missed.

His eyes locked with hers. She was so close to him, overwhelming him with her warmth, her softness and he wanted it all.

"Show me."

She lit up, practically glowed, and carefully touched her lips to his.

It was fantastic; as addictive as every other touch, and he could see why couples here might enjoy the contact.

But then Bulma moved her lips, brushing lightly once, twice, then touched his bottom lip with her tongue, and Vegeta felt the overwhelming heat and energy and thrill shoot through him at full force from the contact, and unable to help himself, he groaned a deep guttural sound.

Bulma pulled away, and he nearly whimpered when he felt the cool air replace her warmth.

"Good?" She asked, a little breathless. He nodded, wide-eyed.

"Do you want to kiss again?"

He nodded and with a smile she obliged.

She kept it soft, simple, and short, kissing him for a moment before breaking away to give him a breath before returning to bestow another small kiss.

And Vegeta was hungry for it, following her after her lips parted each time, wanting just another moment of contact. She kissed him again and again, and he felt once more that his world had dissolved until it was only blue, wet and warm and Bulma was the only thing that mattered. She grounded him in the sensation of good, driving away all the hauntings and memories and ghosts and replaced them with short, sweet kisses against his lips, over and over again until the only thought in his head was her name.

She broke away a final time, and he followed, wanting one more, but she pressed her fingers to his lips, stopping him and instead lightly tracing over them, swollen and red.

"We have time," she said softly, "Just go slow. Enjoy yourself. I'm not going anywhere."

He nodded, and tried to calm his labored breathing. He was warm, skin buzzing with energy he wanted to summon into his palm and blast through something, and he felt a burning ache deep in his core that he wasn't familiar with but instinctively recognized.

He realized he was hard and felt himself blush. Bulma, of course, noticed.

"It's okay," she said softly, moving her hand and resting her forehead against his. "One more kiss?"

He nodded, and she obliged.

*******

If touching Bulma had become addictive, her kisses her water to quench his parched soul. He thrived off of them, needed them, felt his whole body renew itself with each chaste press of her lips to his. He knew it meant more than what they were doing, knew there was some implication to these kisses that he didn't quite understand, but Bulma seemed happy to offer them to him with no strings attached.

And that was something that gave Vegeta pause. In this whole- admittedly strange arrangement- Bulma had asked for nothing in return.

Oh, she demanded he be more careful with the gravity machine and she told him to be nice to her friends, and yelled when he smarted off to her or insulted her, but those were things that were unrelated to the matter at hand. And he did respect her, marveled at her genius; he just liked to pretend he didn't because her face became the most hilarious shade of red when she was angry.

But she still touched him, enabled that craving and need that was in him, and she asked for nothing in return. She offered kisses and tender touches, but never asked for anything other than permission to sleep in his bed on the nights her own nightmares seemed too real.

But then, one day five months since their strange relationship began, she did ask for something.

He'd just exited the shower, towel wrapped around his waist and water still dripping from his hair. He entered his room and dropped the towel, grabbing a pair of pajama pants and pulling them on. He turned, retrieved the towel to begin rubbing it over his head when his bedroom door pushed open to revel Bulma standing in the doorway, eyes red and puffy.

Vegeta stopped and watched her for a long moment, waiting for her to enter. She'd never asked permission before and he'd never felt the need to give it, and so he waited to see what she wanted.

Finally she stepped forward. "Sorry," she said first as she walked toward him, "Can I just-?" She paused, then sighed. "I need a hug."

Before he could react, her arms were around his neck and while his first instinct was that this was an attack, she merely settled against him, chest pressed to his, head nestled against his shoulder. Vegeta didn't know what to do with this sudden onslaught of touch but his senses went into overload and he was so absorbed in the feel of so much of her touching him that he forgot to ask what exactly this was.

Finally she pulled back. "Can you hug me? Please. It's been a bad day."

He nodded once, slowly. But made no move to touch her, uncertain exactly what he was supposed to do. Understanding his stillness, Bulma wordlessly took his arms and wrapped them around her waist. She wound hers back around his neck, and settled against him with a sigh of contentment.

He didn't know what had brought her here, but he was suddenly aware that perhaps she needed this almost as much as he did. She was familiar with touch- lived in a world where touching others was normal, accepted, expected. But this was a kind of intimacy with which Vegeta was unfamiliar, but recognized as a comfort. _He_ felt comforted at least, and hoped that the sensation that was making his entire body light up with positive energy was coursing through Bulma too.

"This is nice," she said after some time, and he allowed his grip to tighten. It _was_ nice. As nice as the caresses, the entwined fingers, the kisses.

Now he had a new word to add to his vocabulary: hug.

He liked this hug. He was close to her, could feel her, smell her, and he turned his head to bury his nose into the juncture between her neck and shoulder and allowed himself to _breathe_.

Eventually one her hands began to stroke him along the back of his neck, moving down toward the hard, muscular planes of his shoulders and back up. He felt himself practically purring from the sensation, and through the overwhelming feeling of her pressed against him, he could feel her laugh.

"What?" He murmured.

She shook her head and held him tighter. "Nothing," she whispered, and he felt her lips press against his skin, a shockwave that shot to his heart and his core. "Just... happier now."

He'd never really associated touching Bulma with happiness, but now that she'd said it, he couldn't disassociate the two concepts.

Eventually she grew tired and pulled him to his bed, where she introduced him to concept of cuddling, and Vegeta found himself reeling that touches could last for _hours_.

She stayed in his room that night, nestled in his embrace- and he liked that word tremendously- and stroked his arm and his cheek and gave him soft kisses before rolling over, her back to his chest, and pulled his arm around her.

"Spooning," she explained, and though he couldn't see her face, he could feel her distaste for the word.

"And we sleep like this?" He asked, unused to sleeping on his side. Or with someone.

"Yeah. Though one of us will probably roll over sometime in the night. We most likely won't wake up like this."

_Good_ , he thought. _I don't want to crush her._

He had a hard time falling asleep, far too aware of Bulma against him, feeling the beat of her heart, the rise and fall of her chest, her warmth pressed all along his own form.

How was he supposed to sleep when there was so much stimulus to his malnourished senses?

He held her, focused on the sensation of another person against him, unsurprised and only slightly embarrassed when he felt himself grow hard again. He worried that she might feel it and wondered what she would do if she did.

The thought of her touching him there suddenly entered his mind, and he stifled a sharp breath from bursting out of him as he realized that he would like that _very_ much.

But she'd never mentioned touches like that, and he didn't know if he could, or should, ask. So he pushed the thought from his mind and tried to think of other things, less positive things, to counterbalance the _delightful_ feel of Bulma's ass pressed against him.

He didn't sleep well that night.

*******

When he woke the next morning, he had in fact moved in his sleep, and his back was to Bulma's. He shifted, rolling over carefully to resume the position from the night before, thinking Bulma wouldn't mind the presumption on his part.

He settled against her and once more his thoughts turned back to where they'd been last night and he once more felt himself getting hard at the feel of Bulma touching him there. He didn't know why it excited him so, but he was new to all of this, so he just allowed the thought to settle as he dozed, half-hard, half-content.

After a few minutes Bulma shifted, pressing against him just right and he felt his breath hitch. Bulma settled, her breathing changed, and she was awake.

"Good morning," she murmured after a moment, shifting again, then stopping short when she stretched, and Vegeta knew she'd felt him. " _Someone's_ awake."

He felt flushed, both warm from the sensation and embarrassment, and thought it might be best to roll away. Bulma's hand caught him  
the moment she felt him shift, and she pushed herself back further against him.

Unable to stop himself, Vegeta exhaled sharply, sound melting into a groan.

"Like that?" She asked, and he knew she knew the answer. "Do you want me to touch you?" She asked, softly, "There?"

He swallowed thickly, excitement bubbling in the pit of his stomach at the prospect, then nodded.

She pulled the covers back and got out of bed. He frowned, thinking with a sinking feeling in his gut that he'd made a mistake, but then she turned and smiled. "Don't move. Give me two minutes."

Then she was gone.

She returned one minute and forty-three seconds later, a bottle in hand and her breath smelling like mint. She locked the door behind her then settled on the bed and peeled the covers back, revealing Vegeta to the cool morning air.

"Can I?" She asked, gesturing to his pants. He glanced down, then nodded, and she wasted no time pulling them down, revealing his hardness to her. She raised her brows, glanced at him, then reached out and gently wrapped her hand around him.

If the sensation of him first waking up to her hand on his chest had been a revelation, then this was what heaven must be like, for he knew nothing on this plane of existence could feel so good. He jerked, his entire body rigid for a split second as a groan fell from his lips. His hands gripped the sheets, and he forced himself to breathe.

Bulma watched, patient, amused. "More?"

His throat was too tight to answer, so he nodded eagerly.

She stroked him lightly, not anything more than what she did to his arm or his cheek, but Vegeta felt there was no sweeter pain in the world. How had he gone so long without this? Radditz and Nappa had talked about such things on a regular basis, but he'd never paid much mind but if this was even half of what they'd enjoyed then _damn_.

Bulma let him get used to the sensation for a moment, then pulled away long enough to put some lotion on her hand. She wrapped her hand around him once more, tighter, and pumped once, twice, three times-

And Vegeta, whose whole world had shriveled, who now knew the most exquisite pleasure in the galaxy, came with a hoarse shout.

He felt the world darken, then resume its normal varying hues, and he felt warmth on his stomach that wasn't Bulma's hand, and he glanced down, alarmed and embarrassed.

Was it over?

Bulma was gone again, but before he could register that fact enough to worry, she'd returned with a warm washcloth and cleaned him silently. He felt hot, no longer from the pleasure but from embarrassment, and he wanted to sink into the bed and be swallowed up.

He- the Prince of all Saiyans and defeater of the coming androids, had just had his first sexual encounter, and he'd lasted mere seconds.

He groaned, and not for the first time, wished for death.

Bulma seemed to sense his inner turmoil, pushed the stuff aside and settled back down beside Vegeta.

"The first time is usually short," she whispered encouragingly, and that caused Vegeta to glance at her skeptically. "Did you enjoy it?" She asked. He nodded. "Then that's all that matters." She moved to hover over him, his pants still discarded and his stomach still damp from the rag, but she seemed not to care about those things. "Can I kiss you?"

He nodded. Her lips met his softly, the mint on her breath fresh and cool. She gave him a soft kiss, then pulled away, kissed his cheek, then his nose, then his mouth.

"Maybe next time I'll kiss you there," she said with a wink, reaching down to run her finger over him. He jerked, the sensation too much but he wanted more, and Bulma smirked.

"You can ask, you know," she whispered, "If you want me to touch you. If you want something else. I'm not going to laugh at you. I'm not going to think less of you because this is new. It's new for everyone, at some point."

That didn't really help, but she was running her fingers over him, brushing over his abs, tenderly touching the scar on his chest from the explosion that had started this whole mess. Her fingers brushed over his chest, lightly sweeping across a nipple and he inhaled sharply, the feeling unexpected but nice.

Deciding that asking was a bit more than he was ready for, but still desperate for all she was willing to give, he lifted his head closer to hers, lips a breath away from her and waited. Bulma smiled then closed the distance between them. He heard her sigh, then she opened her mouth and let her tongue sweep over his lip and if this was what she meant by "kissing him there" then he didn't know how he'd manage to enjoy it for longer than about six seconds because it was already _so much_ now. Almost _too much._ But being kissed was something he'd never experienced until Bulma and it was so tantalizing, so hypnotic, so delectable, he couldn't imagine how much better it could be.

Bulma shifted, resting against Vegeta. "Come here," she encouraged, and pulled him onto his side. He stopped long enough to adjust his pants so they no longer awkwardly sat around his thighs, before scooting closer and letting her press herself hard against him. She ran her hand over his cheek, smiled assuringly at him, then kissed him again. He felt her brush her lips against his, once, twice. Normally she pulled away, but this time she didn't.

He felt his heart skip when her lips continued, opening to make way for her tongue to brush against his bottom lip. Then she caught his lip between hers, lightly sucking before releasing him to repeat the gesture.

Vegeta's hand shot reached out to grab onto... something? Anything? It was so much, it was so good! Everytime he thought she'd shown him the peak of just how good touch could be, she introduced something new, leaving him winded, shocked, and delirious from the new sensations she bestowed upon him.

How easily she could rend him asunder.

She pulled away, pulled his hand to rest on her hip, and whispered, "Mimick what I do," she said, "Kissing is a two person job."

Up until now it hadn't been, but he figured she'd just been doing it for him. Now it seemed she wanted to be kissed back, and well, wasn't that only fair?

Slowly, he parted his lips, brushing against hers as she moved. He did it again, then again, then thought that using his tongue might be a wise move. He repeated the gestures she'd made before, half startled when her tongue flicked against his, and it sent a shockwave downward and he felt himself groan as his desire- for there was no other word to describe it- stirred back to life.

Bulma sighed against him, pressed closer, then slid one leg in between his, and the friction and pressure was _just right._

It seemed to satisfy her to, and she resumed kissing him, mouth moving more and more frantically over his, gentle brushes turning into a consuming back and forth. Though he had no prior experience, Vegeta mimicked Bulma's movements, and while kissing was certainly turning into a complicated and messy business, it felt so good, and when combined with her entire body pressed to him, hands caressing him in light, fluttering touches all over, to her hips _grinding_ against his, Vegeta was experiencing an overload of the senses, and finally he had to push Bulma away, lest he embarrass himself for the second time that morning.

Panting, Bulma stopped, offering Vegeta an apologetic look. "Sorry," she whispered. "Got carried away."

"It was good," he said, thinking she had no reason to apologize for making him feel good.

"Yeah it was," she said, and it dawned on Vegeta that the musky scent was back, and that just as when she'd first kissed him on her bed, she was aroused now.

Kissing him, touching him, aroused her.

_Holy fuck_ if that wasn't the most _glorious_ realization _ever_.

"How do I do that for you?" He asked suddenly, overcome with the urge, the need to touch her. He'd received her touches so often for so long, that despite not wanting to take any part of it for granted, he'd completely forgotten that touching required both them, and perhaps she might want to be touched too. And his fingers _itched_ , needed to touch her, needed to make her feel what he'd just felt, needed to know that he could do something good for once in his damn life. He _needed_ to feel her, the desire overwhelming and all-consuming. She so often touched him, but now he needed to touch her, to feel that she was real, solid, there with him and that he wasn't dreaming this perfect dream that might be ripped from him at any moment.

For her part, Bulma wasted no time, grabbing his hand in hers and pressing it to her center, over her shorts. Heat radiated from her, and he could feel a slight dampness that he could only classify as a good thing.

She guided him with her hand, moving slowly back and forth over her, and she squirmed as she pressed his fingers harder against her.

He knew there had to be more; this couldn't be all, and so he pulled his hand away and rested it at the hem of her shorts, waiting for her to approve before sliding his hand beneath.

The feeling of her, hot, wet, and desperate against his hand nearly sent him over the edge again. But he forced himself to practice his long-taught self-control that seemed to vanish around her and let a breath escape instead. He moved his fingers as he had when over her shorts and was rewarded with a moan that went straight to his cock.

He continued, amazed and amused as Bulma squirmed beneath him, breathy sighs mingling with hot moans when he managed to touch just the right spot.

"Oh, Kami," she whispered, eyes shut as she reached out to wind her fingers into his hair, shifting so she could press her forehead to his as he moved his hand, forcing himself to do exactly as she had instructed.

"Inside," she whispered hotly after a moment, "Oh, Vegeta, please."

He didn't know what that meant so he slowed, and after a moment of confusion she realized he was waiting for instruction and she reached down, tugged her shorts down and showed him exactly what she wanted.

It was a surreal feeling, to have her wrapped around him, even if it was only a finger and he knew- he _knew_ \- that when the time came that they properly joined, it would exceed every expectation. He didn't even really know what to expect even as he understood the semantics, but what he was seeing and hearing and feeling now was sublime, and he couldn't believe that for once in his life something had gone so right as to bring him to this moment.

Bulma was whimpering and clasping the back of his neck tightly while sighing curses and when had bringing pleasure become more enjoyable than bringing pain?!

She reached down to guide him, and in moments grew hotter, wetter, until eventually she stiffened against him, mouth agape and eyes shut tight as he felt the evidence of her completion.

She sagged and sighed against him, letting go of his hand. He slid his finger out of her, and she reached over wordlessly to hand him the washcloth from before, now cool and unpleasant feeling. He tossed it to the floor when he was done and turned back to watch Bulma, who looked relaxed and perfectly content.

"This is good," she said softly, stroking his cheek with her hand. "Right?"

Growing bold, he answered her with a kiss.

*******

They slept together almost every night after that. Sometimes Bulma would be asleep when he returned from training, sometimes he found her staring half-awake at her computer screen in the lab. Regardless, they fell into bed together, and while most nights left them both exhausted from their respective days, some nights they would linger on the edge of consciousness, kissing and touching in ways that were new and very much welcome.

Vegeta thought it should bother him that she seemed to know so much more about this than him. He was always confident, intelligent, certain of himself. He'd been an expert strategist, was a skilled fighter, and had overcome much in his life. But here, in the confines of their bedrooms, he was an obedient student, eager to learn and understand each and every new sensation Bulma presented to him.

From the first touch that she'd given him to heal his hurt, to the quick-paced pumping that tore him apart, he wanted it all, and he wanted it with her, and he wanted to make the most of it because time was running out and the androids would be here before they knew it.

His first blow job- as she'd called it- had made him nearly blast a hole in the ceiling. The first time he pressed his lips to her center, he'd found it strange, but then her breath had hitched as she tried to explain to him what to do and he decided that he'd do anything to make her feel half as good as she made him feel.

Then finally she'd sat atop him, pressed him inside her, and when he'd told himself he had no idea how good it would feel, he'd greatly underestimated the whole situation because he came within seconds and Bulma had been so turned on by that mere _fact_ that she followed him almost immediately after.

"Oh, wow!" She sighed as she pulled away and fell onto the sheets beside him. He grunted, embarrassed that even after several encounters of this nature he couldn't seem to enjoy it for more than a few fleeting moments. But even still, it was exquisite, and he was already desperate for them to try again.

When he didn't respond, Bulma turned her head to look at him. "You okay?"

"Yes."

"You know it's normal to not last long sometimes, right?"

How could it be normal? He was supposed to be the Prince of all Saiyans, the embodiment of everything a true Saiyan should be, and he could barely even have sex.

Rather than respond to her question, he grunted, his hand moving to rest on her bare thigh, needing the comfort of feeling her even as he wanted to disappear.

"You're still not used to being touched," she said softly, hand coming to rest over his, "You've gone your entire life without something I would consider normal. It's not surprising that it would be so overwhelming at first. The more we do it, the longer you'll last."

She paused, then added with a wicked gleam in her eyes, "Though, to be honest, seeing you come undone that fast was _really_ hot."

"Hot?" He repeated, turning his palm up so that her fingers linked with his, the sensation a deep comfort.

"Attractive. Appealing. Makes me really fucking wet-"

"Vulgar woman," he flushed.

"Says the man who just had the best sex of his life."

He opened his mouth to protest but he really couldn't argue her point, so he snapped his mouth shut, teeth clicking together. Bulma giggled. "Don't worry. It was good for me too."

He turned to look at her. He studied her for a long moment, her blue eyes sparkling with sincerity and a hint of mischief. She liked making him flush.

He had to admit, he liked it too.

Without allowing himself to dwell on the matter, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers. She hummed in delight, scooting closer and snuggling up to him as his lips slid against hers, the familiar movements bringing a gentle hum of pleasure that settled deep inside him. Not necessarily arousing, but pleasant.

When he pulled back, Bulma took the opportunity to catch his bottom lip with her teeth, lightly nipping him and laughing when he gave her a scandalized look. "What?"

He shook his head as best he could from his position and repeated the gesture, careful not to bite too hard. "Thank you," he whispered once he released her.

Bulma's breath caught. "For what?" She pulled away to look at him, and he laid a hand on her hip, squeezing her gently, enjoying the way she shifted and pressed against him.

"Everything."

"Well, it benefits me too," she said teasingly, "So you're very welcome."

He paused at that, swallowed, then asked, "You won't- you don't touch anyone else like _this_ , do you?"

He was suddenly full of Bulma, her arms around him, face pressed to his chest. Her legs tangled between his and she squeezed tight, hugging him hard and protective. Without thinking he wrapped his arms around her, taking her in, reveling in her closeness.

"I'm not interested in touching- or being touched by- anyone else."

The thought that this- that _she_ \- was his alone was a novel and surprising thought. He'd never had anything of his own before, not truly. And to have her, to know she was so willing to touch his scarred skin, his blood-soaked hands, it was unbelievable. And yet there she was, in his arms willingly and enthusiastically, and never had anything felt so right in the world.

Overcome with need for her, he moved, rolled so he was on his back and Bulma was atop him once more. He knew she felt his hardness, and she smiled evilly as she ground against him, the electric bliss shooting through him making him groan as she prepared to take him again.

As she sank into him, he grabbed her by the hips, held on tight, and let himself _feel_.


End file.
